The Blood Court
Sand blustered firmly against the chariot,
forcing Oshvorn to tighten his kerchief over his face and making his protruding tusks an almost comical sight. Sandstorms were common in Vaelnar, but this weather was an omen, and Oshvorn knew the signs. "You don't need to go through with this, Bloodlord,” came the bearish voice of Captain Naeshir from the chariot behind, "His claim is weak, no need to scuff over some pup biting at the bit." The comment earned a few grunts from his honor-guard, but Oshvorn was in no mood for japes. "If I don't put an end to Zstulkk's bickering, the other dynasties will call it weakness. I didn't take my throne lying down." Oshvorn spat the words, venom in his voice.
The iron gates to Mohlozok parted, even before they reached the holy city,
and a procession stood waiting to honor the Bloodlord and the ceremonial rite. Humans and orcs from all over Vaelnar had gathered to witness a duel between the dynasties. Participating in the Blood Court, the only part of the holy city where bloodshed was permitted, was the highest honor in the kingdom, but it was also the deadliest. Victory went to the last champion standing, mercy was optional. In Mohlozok, politics were handled with sword and axes and debates never took more than a few blows. It was quite the accomplishment that Oshvorn had held his title for nearly a decade, a nigh impossible feat considering the harsh limitations set to oppose prolonged reign. With each victory a ruling monarch was stripped of a portion of armor or the use of a favored weapon; the penalties for Oshvorn were so severe that he was obligated to enter the arena only wearing the cloth on his back.
To Oshvorn's surprise there were four opponents
awaiting his arrival inside the Blood Court, one of which was a giant. "Is that thing even legal?" Oshvorn sneered. "Technically, there are no rules against it, according to blood-rites, even if it does have two heads,” Zstulkk hissed out of his serpentine mouth. He was armed with two scimitars and wore a dark studded leather jacket. "Apparently the other lords heard about our little clash and didn't want to miss out on the fun,” Zstulkk laughed, almost jovial at the prospect. "I should have known better than to expect a clean fight from the Uszoti,” Oshvorn said, eyeing his other challengers. One man, a human of middle years, concealing his face behind a pale porcelain mask, by his colors a member of the Khalashaar. The other a small woman, only about half the height of any average person, dressed in heavy plate that belied enormous strength, despite her stature. Naeshir approached the center of the arena, quieting the crowd with the wave of his poleaxe. "The challenge of the Bloodthrone may be elicited only once in the lifetime of an acknowledged lord, and any who elicit that rite by oath bind their nation to the victor's authority for the remainder of that victor's reign. All who acknowledge the sanctity of the blood pact swear now their fealty, by honor bound." There was a brief pause at Naeshir's words followed by a unanimous cry "By honor bound!" Naeshir turned to exit the arena and then stopped at the perimeter. "Contenders, take your places. On my mark, commence."
There was a long pause; each champion
readied their weapons, eyeing their enemies in turn. Sand whisked across the battlefield as the entire stadium held its breath in anticipation. "For Vitrus, for honor!" Naeshir roared, and the crowd joined in. There was a moment’s hesitation as each warrior awaited the other’s first move. The silence broke with the giant lumbering forward, bolting toward Oshvorn, waving its two monstrous axes. It let out a primal battle-cry as it charged across the sands, surprisingly quick for its hulking size. Oshvorn crouched, searching for an opportunity in the beast’s wild flailing strikes, but before he could make his move something whizzed past his ear, nicking it as it sailed toward the giant. The dagger found its mark, but the beast didn't flinch. Oshvorn rolled forward underneath the strike of the battleaxe and dug his heels into the sand preparing for a counterattack, but before he could react, a second axe came swinging for his head. Oshvorn changed directions and leaped onto the beast's extended arm, running up and grabbing at the dagger protruding from the creature's chest. In one fluid motion Oshvorn twisted in the air, gouging at the monster's eye with his tusk and bringing the dagger down upon the second head. The giant started tumbling wildly like a whirling dervish, sending axes and Oshvorn to the arena floor. Zstulkk danced past the small armored knight who he'd been sparring with just as Oshvorn rose to his feet. "I see, just waiting for me to do your dirty work, eh?" Oshvorn remarked, spitting sand from his mouth. The only reply he received was a flurry of blades from the serpentine lord. Oshvorn narrowly dodged the first blade, catching the second with his newly found dagger. His opponent’s blows were precise like a flowing dance. Zstulkk pressed him back, leading him away from the other champions. Suddenly, Oshvorn felt his heel strike something hard, pinned against a stone pillar. Oshvorn rolled aside, letting Zstulkk's blades dash against the stone and giving himself some distance between his attacker. A shadow passed at the corner of his vision, another assailant? But when he turned he saw a scimitar whirling through the air from around the pillar. Oshvorn brought the dagger up and reflected the blade, sending it skittering through the sand. He rolled and reached out to grab it but then something else caught his eye. Barely visible in the shadow of the pillar was a shape... a glyph? Impossible! The Blood Court was holy ground, magic wouldn't work here... Unless... Zstulkk was one of the Marked? The blade lay idle, but in the shadow of the pillar its form lay silently completing the glyph rune. It was a trap, a fairly complex one, but it had almost fooled him. Oshvorn retracted his hand, bringing the dagger around and throwing it into the face of his foe. Zstulkk parried the dagger, but wasn't quick enough to stop the sand Oshvorn had thrown toward his eyes. Zstulkk dropped his guard, blinded by the attack and Oshvorn grappled the helpless snake, sliding him in between himself and the greatsword of the armored warrior. He felt Zstulkk's body slump loose in his arms and reached down to pick up the fallen scimitar. He rolled, grabbing the weapon as he passed by and turned to defend himself but just as he did, blood spewed from the warrior’s neck. He had all but forgotten about the man in the mask, who stood removing his blacked blood-soaked blade from the woman's neck. The masked man tossed the armored corpse at Oshvorn, knocking him to the ground with the armor’s weight. Oshvorn tossed the body aside but it was too late, as he was met by a hail of daggers. Too slow, the assassin flipped over Oshvorn's head, landing behind him without a sound. Oshvorn spun, putting his full strength into his swing, catching only air as he turned about. He was gone? Oshvorn lost his footing as the world fell out from under him, tripped by his masked foe. He looked up just as the man was bringing his dagger down for a killing blow. Oshvorn grabbed his assailant's wrist with both hands, pulled him close, and drove his tusks into the fool's neck.
Silence.
Oshvorn heaved the bloody body off from on top of him. The crowd erupted as he stood raising a fist to the cadence of their cheers. Oshvorn pulled the remaining daggers from his chest as his honor-guard rushed up to surround him. "I suppose that concludes negotiations. You'll do good to remember this Naeshir, should your time come to lead." Oshvorn spat blood as he scolded his brother. Naeshir's laugh faded as Oshvorn stumbled to his knees. He looked down and fingered the hole in his shirt where the dagger had been. Was that... poison?
Written by:
Jordan Cribbs
There was a long pause; each champion
readied their weapons, eyeing their enemies in turn. Sand whisked across the battlefield as the entire stadium held its breath in anticipation. "For Vitrus, for honor!" Naeshir roared, and the crowd joined in. There was a moment’s hesitation as each warrior awaited the other’s first move. The silence broke with the giant lumbering forward, bolting toward Oshvorn, waving its two monstrous axes. It let out a primal battle-cry as it charged across the sands, surprisingly quick for its hulking size. Oshvorn crouched, searching for an opportunity in the beast’s wild flailing strikes, but before he could make his move something whizzed past his ear, nicking it as it sailed toward the giant. The dagger found its mark, but the beast didn't flinch. Oshvorn rolled forward underneath the strike of the battleaxe and dug his heels into the sand preparing for a counterattack, but before he could react, a second axe came swinging for his head. Oshvorn changed directions and leaped onto the beast's extended arm, running up and grabbing at the dagger protruding from the creature's chest. In one fluid motion Oshvorn twisted in the air, gouging at the monster's eye with his tusk and bringing the dagger down upon the second head. The giant started tumbling wildly like a whirling dervish, sending axes and Oshvorn to the arena floor. Zstulkk danced past the small armored knight who he'd been sparring with just as Oshvorn rose to his feet. "I see, just waiting for me to do your dirty work, eh?" Oshvorn remarked, spitting sand from his mouth. The only reply he received was a flurry of blades from the serpentine lord. Oshvorn narrowly dodged the first blade, catching the second with his newly found dagger. His opponent’s blows were precise like a flowing dance. Zstulkk pressed him back, leading him away from the other champions. Suddenly, Oshvorn felt his heel strike something hard, pinned against a stone pillar. Oshvorn rolled aside, letting Zstulkk's blades dash against the stone and giving himself some distance between his attacker. A shadow passed at the corner of his vision, another assailant? But when he turned he saw a scimitar whirling through the air from around the pillar. Oshvorn brought the dagger up and reflected the blade, sending it skittering through the sand. He rolled and reached out to grab it but then something else caught his eye. Barely visible in the shadow of the pillar was a shape... a glyph? Impossible! The Blood Court was holy ground, magic wouldn't work here... Unless... Zstulkk was one of the Marked? The blade lay idle, but in the shadow of the pillar its form lay silently completing the glyph rune. It was a trap, a fairly complex one, but it had almost fooled him. Oshvorn retracted his hand, bringing the dagger around and throwing it into the face of his foe. Zstulkk parried the dagger, but wasn't quick enough to stop the sand Oshvorn had thrown toward his eyes. Zstulkk dropped his guard, blinded by the attack and Oshvorn grappled the helpless snake, sliding him in between himself and the greatsword of the armored warrior. He felt Zstulkk's body slump loose in his arms and reached down to pick up the fallen scimitar. He rolled, grabbing the weapon as he passed by and turned to defend himself but just as he did, blood spewed from the warrior’s neck. He had all but forgotten about the man in the mask, who stood removing his blacked blood-soaked blade from the woman's neck. The masked man tossed the armored corpse at Oshvorn, knocking him to the ground with the armor’s weight. Oshvorn tossed the body aside but it was too late, as he was met by a hail of daggers. Too slow, the assassin flipped over Oshvorn's head, landing behind him without a sound. Oshvorn spun, putting his full strength into his swing, catching only air as he turned about. He was gone? Oshvorn lost his footing as the world fell out from under him, tripped by his masked foe. He looked up just as the man was bringing his dagger down for a killing blow. Oshvorn grabbed his assailant's wrist with both hands, pulled him close, and drove his tusks into the fool's neck.
Silence.
Oshvorn heaved the bloody body off from on top of him. The crowd erupted as he stood raising a fist to the cadence of their cheers. Oshvorn pulled the remaining daggers from his chest as his honor-guard rushed up to surround him. "I suppose that concludes negotiations. You'll do good to remember this Naeshir, should your time come to lead." Oshvorn spat blood as he scolded his brother. Naeshir's laugh faded as Oshvorn stumbled to his knees. He looked down and fingered the hole in his shirt where the dagger had been. Was that... poison?
Written by:
Jordan Cribbs
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